


like a map with no ocean

by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Author has not seen the movie, Author is long-winded, Author is totally in love with Sam Wilson, Author might be making some lucky guesses..., Blow Jobs, Bucky is really not a virgin, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Trailer, F/M, First Time, I absolutely LOVE Old Peggy!, M/M, Mangling of 40's slang!, SPOILERS FOR THE NEW MOVIE!!, Sam Wilson is fantastic!, Sam is totally Steve's bro!, Sassy Steve, Tony would totally have a threesome with Steve and Bucky, Virgin Steve!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot/pseuds/WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"No, you need to hear this." Sam steps closer. "You need to be prepared. This, what he’s been through, is worse than any worst case scenario."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And you need to hear this,” he replies, his tone and demeanor both a brick wall. “He will not fall again. He will get through this. I will get him through this. Or die trying. That’s all.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam scrubs his weary face with weary hands and regards Steve with resignation. “Fine then.  What’s your plan?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Steve Rogers finds what he has been missing all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a map with no ocean

**Author's Note:**

> *title taken, possibly misinterpreted, from Feist's "The Limit to your Love".  
> **inspired by all released official footage thus far of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Thus, this is a rather spoilery story, especially if you don't know who's in charge of Bucky's brainwashing in the upcoming movie. Further note: I have only seen the trailers, some of the TV spots and a couple of officially released featurettes, and I have pieced together some bits of information here and there. There may be some lucky guesses as to what happens in CA: TWS!  
> Enjoy!!

It is inexplicable, Steve thinks, how he can be so alone and lost in this strange future. 

When he wakes, he is scared and he lashes out.  

When he comes down, after he talks to Fury, he settles into a routine of exercise and therapy and looking at things of his past. That’s the real strange thing of it, though. He sits in his old-fashioned apartment, furnished until it reeks of familiarity. 

While the advancements are great, better medicine, certainly better technology, the future is lacking. Steve sees it everywhere he goes, and it is even worse in his apartment. The absence here, the one vital thing that no S.H.I.E.L.D. file can ever describe and that no paid contractor or interior designer can ever capture, is a hole sized five feet and eleven inches, topped with brown hair that curls in impossible fashion and blue eyes, heavy lidded yet always laughing. There is also a pair of brutal fists and lethal hands, and a motor mouth that never learned to shut up and stop smirking. 

_“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone…”_

When he shuts his eyes, Steve can almost _smell_ him in the room. Almost. Then it is gone. Nothing more than a ghost of a memory past.

 

*

 

Though the future is missing a vital piece of himself, it has aliens. So, Steve thinks, well then.  

They save New York, they make a team ( _“The Avengers. I don’t even know, didn’t make sense, but hey! It’ll look super sexy on specially licensed T-shirts, all proceeds going to the recovery of New York City.”_ Tony says in epically run-on fashion, and Steve is just happy that the man didn’t die on his watch, that they didn’t lose another person so he lets the thing about T-shirts go. For now), and they have no idea what to do with the pesky Asgardian trouble-maker embedded in Stark Tower’s concrete floor.

There is also something called shawarma and it isn’t the best thing he’s ever had, but it is good so there is that. 

But then he can see Bucky perched on top of the broken, dust covered counter of the restaurant, an arm dangling over bent knee, a hand fiddling with knife. _“Beats Dum Dum's shit he usta make with our rations marchin’ all over hell an’ back, don’t it Stevie?”_

He hides his face from the rest of his new team. It would not do for them to see their captain’s eyes water and his face wet with his own tears. 

 

*

 

This is the fifth time this week Natasha mentions a girl he should see. The third time this night alone.

“I hope you’re talking to Sofen about your clear intimacy issues and fear of the opposite sex,” she says mildly, the only betrayal of her teasing him the sharp arch of her bandaged eyebrow, considering him with poorly concealed cynicism.

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time than fretting about my social life and what I may or may not tell my therapist?” With his bruised and battered knuckles, he takes a bite of chicken. That’s another benefit to the future; food may not be cheaper, but it is more plentiful and he can get a whole roasted chicken at the local market for around five bucks and isn’t that just something?

Natasha is a fairly regular guest at his place, which has forced him to reckon with his design sensibilities. In that he has none. She helps him find a mix of antiques and simple furniture, and he takes her with him to IKEA because a trained assassin is a handy thing to have in a place as insane as a Swedish furniture store. That is something he never would have thought before, but maybe he would have because, maybe instead of saying these things to Natasha, he would have said them to Bucky. 

Bucky would have nodded and clicked their beer bottles together and turned on the  game--

He swallows the ever-present lump in his throat and considers his and Natasha’s present states. In pursuit of biological weapons and one squirrelly French terrorist, they came out of their late night raid with a few scrapes but nothing serious. Every mission he doesn’t lose a colleague, he counts his blessings and prays and asks for absolution for those he lost. 

For those he let fall.

“You know, you and Clint are the only people I concern myself with.” She sits back, her plate now empty and takes a long sip of beer, the only alcohol Steve keeps at his place. 

He tips his bottle toward her. “I guess I should be grateful.”

“Such a droll sense of humor, Cap.” She is surprised, mildly so.

“Just because I walk around in a flag suit and grew up in 40's Brooklyn doesn’t mean I don’t know the value of sarcasm.” He pauses before he takes a sip of his beer. “I used to be in the army, you know. Used to be friends with Bucky Barnes. He’d match Tony, quip for quip.”

Natasha hums and her eyes search his place. “You put up more artwork. _Finally._ ”

“Well, I had it on good authority that I should personalize this stodgy retirement center for old vets, so.”

“So.” Pulling her smirk to the right, Natasha stands up from the couch to look closer at the sketches and pictures. “I’m glad you’re finally listening to sense.”

“Not hard to listen when you’re giving your advice in the middle of squeezing my neck between your thighs.” Which is true; Natasha gives him her best advice when she spars with him. She also hits and kicks and chokes harder the more he holds back. 

She laughs. “Oh, you _love_ it.” He knows she is trying to elicit a blush, and she is successful, but he keeps up the banter.

“That’s not wrong, you know.”

“If I didn’t know better, Soldier, that sounded like innuendo.”

“Like I said. Army.”

She walks around his living room, scanning the pictures, asking him about the people he’s drawn. He tells her more stories about the Commandos, finally putting faces with the names. He does not understand why he never showed her before, all the pictures of the past. Natasha is haunted by her own ghosts, this he full well knows. She would understand. But he is unsure of how well she’d understand the whole thing with--

“Who’s this?”

Two words, but Steve’s ears pick up a forced evenness to her tone, like someone trying to cover cracks in an old sidewalk with asphalt and tape. Wrong and discordant.

He walks to her, to the picture he had of him and Bucky. Before the serum, Steve refused to take pictures with Bucky. There were a couple because Bucky insisted, but they were rare and likely had been lost to the erosion of time and age. After he became Captain America, everyone wanted a piece of him, and war photographers were certainly no exception. Bucky, though, hung back, retreated into the shadows. Bucky insisted it was because he worked best from the shadows, invisible and unseen. Steve suspected, _knew,_ that it had everything to do with HYDRA, with whatever they made him endure. 

Bucky had _changed_. Not anything specific or tangible, but… Steve knew. It was enough.

The picture Natasha stares at is one of him with Bucky alone. The photographer caught them standing together, an unlit cigarette dangling stuck between Bucky’s dried lips and Steve staring at him, grasping his shoulder, laughing at some wonderful, beautiful vulgarity. 

Oh how he wishes he could hear Bucky again, even if it was a swear or a lewd joke.

“That’s… that’s Bucky Barnes.” He sighs as he leans against the wall, smiling fondly at the picture, nodding. “The best friend, and sniper, a super soldier could ever have.” He doesn’t look at Natasha, but his serum-improved hearing catches a subtle, sharp intake of breath. 

“Tell me about him.” 

He takes a breath, and he talks. He finds his voice describing the way they met when they were just kids, all five feet, ninety-five pounds of black and blue Steve Rogers, and Bucky ran off McDougal’s crew when they had cornered him in an alley next to the orphanage--

_“You wanna have a go at me too?”_

_“Ya could’ve gotten yourself killed by Jimmy an’ his gang! What were ya thinkin’, a little guy like you?_ ”

“ _I can take care of myself._ ”

_“Of course ya can. I’m Bucky, by the way! Bucky Barnes…”_

 It is when he gets to the war and the HYDRA base and rescuing Bucky from the hell of whatever it was Zola did to him that Natasha’s face softens, though Steve sees that she is paler than normal. The color seemed to drain from her face the moment she asked about Bucky.

“There’s more to him than what you’re saying, isn’t there? To the two of you?” 

He swallows, not sure if she’s already cottoned on, but nearly certain she has. It isn’t like it was back then, and that’s a good thing. Men can be with men and, sure, people make comments and bully them around, but it’s becoming common, normal. These _things_ Steve may have felt in the past, this _whatever_ it was with Bucky that was never spoken of and never acted on, it just simply wasn’t the right time for it. 

A smile flutters quickly across Steve's face. “Have you ever looked at a map of the world?”

Natasha arches her eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Have you ever tried to picture the world without the oceans?”

Her expression evens out and she shakes her head.

“That’s what it’s like.”

She turns back to the picture, her eyes lingering on it, not saying a word. And then: “I thought you and Agent Carter were--”

“We were, well… maybe. We really liked each other. I was smitten. I think she was too. Something may have started if either of us wanted to, but the war, and…” He shakes his head. “But I guess you have a word for that these days, right? Both men and women, right? It’s…” 

One thing that will never change is his perennial awkwardness talking about sex. He’s old-fashioned and for all of Natasha’s modernness, some of the terminology can’t escape his lips without causing his face to flame with red.

It’s Natasha who suddenly breaks the awkward pause. “I have to get going.”

“Don’t leave on my account. It’s not too late, and you know you’re always welcome here.”

“I know, Steve.”

“It’s not because of what I said, about me and Peggy and Bucky, is it?”

She stops just at his doorway and turns to face him, a hand going to his cheek. “It’s not.” She searches his face with her eyes. “I’m more tired than I’m letting on. See you in the morning?”

Before she goes, she does something wholly uncharacteristic and lays a soft kiss on his cheek, very close to his mouth. When she pulls away and walks down the hall, Steve stands there, rubbing his face and wondering whether Natasha is telling him the whole story. 

Because she really isn’t one to just kiss and run like that.

 

*

 

It is only a few days later that Steve understands Natasha's story and what it is to see a ghost. The face of the man he still dreams of, of the man he still sees even when he’s awake… though he has been turned and twisted by whatever HYDRA has done into a perversion of Captain America.  

For the first time, Captain America -- Steve Rogers -- does not know what to do. Yet he realizes what he might _have_ to do, and he is disgusted with himself for even thinking it.

 

*

 

It does not come to that. But it comes close. And it almost kills both of them.

He has no regrets though. If there is one thing that Steve knows, it is that he would walk through all of hell and heaven, through fire and ice and fire again, to save this one man. He is worth all of it, all the seven decades and thousands of hours and millions of minutes. 

It is Bucky. Broken and damaged Bucky, though he does not know that. Though it seems like his memories have returned. His affection for Steve, the feelings of friendship of brotherhood?

They have not.  

Steve stands outside the safe house where they have secured Bucky. For now. S.H.I.E.L.D. is in tatters and HYDRA has been scattered and Fury, Natasha, and Hill have this place that is supposedly secure and independent of any of the old authority. Bucky will not be renditioned, will not be black sited, will not be taken from him again. 

He will help him remember. He will help him become whole. Or he will die trying.

“Your boy’s got a helluva stubborn streak in him a mile wide.” It is Sam, coming down the slope from the front of the house. Loyal, trusting Sam Wilson. ‘Fly-or-Die’ Sam Wilson. Who basically gave up his entire life because Steve needed to retrieve Bucky’s soul from the depths of hell and because Steve needed to give S.H.I.E.L.D. a big dose of, as Sam put it, “‘Go Fuck Yourself’ sauce."

“Nice to hear he’s coming back to his old self.”

“Is this a thing with you old fogeys? Because between you and him, I’m noticing a theme; pig-headed-stubborn-ass-old-fool-syndrome.”

Steve snorts, and its the first legitimate laugh since this entire thing started.  The laughter dies down and Sam gets serious.

“He asked me to… you know.”

Steve knows. Steve’s heart drops into his stomach, but he fixes Sam with the same resolute look he had when he asked him to join him in his insane mission against S.H.I.E.L.D. “You’re not going to, though.”

“Hell no I’m not! I know what you'd do to me if I did. I just nodded at him and left. But, man… I don’t do that shit anymore. I’ve shed enough blood the past few days, and I’m not doing what he asked me to do. I’m not gonna be the one who takes him down, even if he asked me to, even if he is triggered again.”

Steve nods. “Natasha will drop him. I know she would. And I won’t be able to stop her.”

Sam bites his bottom lip, considering. “Dude look, you’ve been through hell and back, and your friend’s been through a hundred hells and for now, he's still standing. You and I've both seen the worst case scenarios. Trauma and war and death can destroy a soldier. But what he's been through, Steve? I doubt anyone comes back from that."

"Don't."

"No, you need to hear this." Sam steps closer. "You need to be prepared. This, what he’s been through, is worse than any worst case scenario."

"And _you_ need to hear this,” he replies, his tone and demeanor both a brick wall. “He will not fall again. He will get through this. I will get him through this. Or die trying. That’s all.”

Sam scrubs his weary face with weary hands and regards Steve with resignation. “Fine then.  What’s your plan?” 

That is when Steve makes his proposal. Sam protests strongly, but Steve’s resolve is stronger.

“C’mon, Steve! This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Sam, I’m giving you everything I have. My back pay, my savings, my S.H.I.E.L.D. Salary, my apartment in Brooklyn -- all of it is yours if you stay here with him and help him recover while I clean up the mess I made.”

Steve offers Sam a full-time job and rent-free housing to be Bucky’s babysitter. He can see the other man struggling with it because how the hell do you watch over a brainwashed assassin? Really, you don’t.  

“You can’t give all your shit. What about you? How will you live?”

He looks down at his Stark Industries phone, a smart, fancy-pants thing that Tony set up  for him. “I have resources to take care of myself.”

Sam gives him one more look. “This whole thing’s above my pay grade.”

“You said you needed a vacation.”

“Babysitting your BFF after several bouts of HYDRA brainwashing is not a vacation.”

“Sam?”  Steve asks him one last time, but not like a question.

Sam sighs and shakes his head rapidly. “Fine. But I don’t need much. All I need is whatever the VA would’ve paid me for however long you need me here. Can you swing that?”

Steve nods, and agrees to provide food and any other living expenses and, secretly, he’ll likely double, maybe triple, that amount anyway because it’s Sam and he owes him everything right now. 

 

* 

 

When Steve returns to the cabin, there is a part of him that is frightened that Bucky’s gone or done something horrific. 

But no, he is sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead. No signs of trauma or trouble. Not counting whatever inner turmoil he is struggling with. 

He turns around right away, because Steve’s not keeping quiet, he is making as much noise as he can. Bucky stands, and they face each other, this time neither are armed.  Though Bucky… no, he is James now, because it is easier for Steve, because though James knows about Bucky’s life, he cannot _feel_ it. Not yet. 

Maybe not ever. 

“Wilson told you, didn’t he?” 

“Of course he did. He won’t, you know.”

Buck- James shrugs. “Natasha will. There’s at least one person in your crew who’s smart enough to follow sense.”

Steve feels his chin tremble. “That’s the problem. With us, it was never about smarts.”

James snorts and sits back down on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. “You’ll just get yourself killed.”

Shrugging, he walks over to him, standing in front of his best friend and never taking his eyes off his face. “My lack of intelligence has served me well so far, so I’ll continue trusting it.” 

There is silence for a while as James runs his hand, the metal one, across the thick leather of the sofa. Steve goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He is not sure about what to say, what to do, or really about anything at all anymore. The man with the face of his best friend sits in the living room, virtually a stranger. Might as well be thousands of miles away in cryogenic sleep. He walks back and sits down on the coffee table in front of James, but turned away with elbows on knees, his body hunched over. Steve takes long, thought-filled swigs from the bottle. 

If he keeps his mouth occupied, he won’t say anything to blow this all to hell.

 

*

 

It is the first night in the safe house, and Steve hears James in the other room.  How can he not -- the screaming and slamming wakes him up almost immediately.

He bolts into the room and sees Bucky, _James_ , curled up in sweat-soaked sheets, speaking indecipherable Russian. There are holes in the wooden bedframe, and splinters everywhere. Steve doesn’t stop to think, he just acts.

“Wake up!” He says it repeatedly, and even if James chokes him when he comes to, he’ll be able to fight him off.

He does, but just barely.  

James tears into him like a tiger. He wakes up in attack mode, thrashing and punching and he pins Steve down in a chokehold, which, fortunately, he was prepared for. He leverages himself up from the other man and pins him, metal arm and flesh arm, to the floor. 

James comes to after a moment. “I’m… _Jesus_.”

“You’re safe,” Steve says, giving his arms a shake. “You’re in the safe house. I’m here. 

“Fuck!” It is all James says as Steve eases off him and allows him to stand.  

They sit together on the floor for a few moments. James’ face is in his hands and his breathing is wet and tremulous.

“You want to talk about it?”

James shakes his head at first, but he opens his mouth. “Department X, the Chamber, the Chair, Pierce, new orders to kill…” He trails off and uses his fleshy hand to gesture at Steve. “Failing the mission and then I’m falling. Goddamn, but I always fall.”

Steve blanches. “The Alps? The train?”

James looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes through scraggly bits of hair. “Gloved hand, blue sleeves. You.”

Steve lets out a stream of swears and runs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. Dammit, this is my fault.”

“Shut up, Steve,” James says weakly, and it’s so familiar and perfect that Steve has to hold himself back from wrapping his arms around him. “Can’t sleep now. Probably not ever again.”

“I’ll join you. Did the, um, programming take away your poker playing skills?”

The corner of James’ mouth tugs up into a smile. “Captain America gambles?” It sounds less like a question, more like a statement.

Steve’s heart pounds. “I learned from the best.”

They grab a deck of cards, and they sit in the living room, playing for hours. Steve cannot help but stare at the man, surges of heat and loss mixing inside his belly at the sight of him. His repose, it is so _Bucky_ , the way he is reclined with his legs crossed, the familiar smile playing across his lips. The sight goes straight to Steve’s core, and he sucks in a breath and his throat closes and his eyes water at the memories of his friend looking like just that. 

Except this Bucky has longer hair, cold eyes, and a metal arm. With his metal arm, he shuffles and taps the deck.

“Cut it.” 

It’s just like the times Bucky taught Steve the best card tricks for Spades and poker and Go Fish, when he was laid up sick in bed, tricks that came in handy to win practically every game with the Commandos. Except it is like nothing of those times, not really.

 

*

 

On his blessed days off, Steve visits Peggy at the retirement home for vets. She has his arm, but not because she is weak or unable to walk properly, but because she likes holding onto him, as if this time he will not disappear into metal and water and ice. They have regular dates now, 70 years late, but still. Steve lives for the moments he gets to see her. Thank goodness that Peggy is still sharp as a whip and in relatively good health, all things considered.

Steve likes being here for her, in any way he can. He knows she likes it, knowing he’s alive and healthy and young, escorting her around the nursing home like he is hers. 

Which, face it, he is. Almost completely.

“I like to tell the others you’re my piece on the side,” Peggy says, a knowing grin sliding across her face. Steve sees only the beautiful, intelligent woman he was drawn to in basic, the cunning agent who punched and shot with skill and ease, and the saucy dame who could hold her own around soldiers.

“Peggy!” He blushes, and she giggles. 

“What? Give this old woman her moment of fun.” Peggy winks at him and he laughs and for one moment, they are back in London, during the war, and everything is as it should be. 

“So, how’s our friend?”

Steve looks over at her, forcing his too expressive face into something that resembles total obliviousness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are impossible!” She tightens her grip on him, giving his forearm the slightest pinch. “Tell me how Bucky is. How’s he doing after… everything.”

“Nothing slips by you, does it?”

She hums, a laughing sound at him. “You don’t live as long as I do, work in the line of work that I’ve done, without having eyes and ears everywhere.” Her expression falls into something more serious. “Tell me. Is he doing all right?”

Well, it isn’t like he doesn’t trust her. He does. She knows Bucky personally, and, well… it’s _Peggy._ “Doing about as well as anyone after being brainwashed for decades and trained as an assassin without any free will. Surviving. For now.”

"Fair point. God, I am so sorry to hear about it. I didn’t… Steve I hope you know if I ever knew about this--” 

“Peggy, of course. I don’t doubt you would’ve stopped it.”

They walk in companionable silence for a ways. Then. “Maybe, this is fate after all.”

“Pardon?” Steve has no idea what Peggy means. Well, he thinks he may have some idea, but he is not about to give anything up.

Peggy gives him a sideways glance and guides him toward two men sitting on a bench, one has their arm around the other and they are feeding birds. “See those two? Stan and Donny Richardson. Together for sixty-some-odd years.”

Yep. He sees where this is going. He won’t stop her, he won’t give up anything yet.

“Wow. That’s, well… that’s something.”

“Isn’t it?” Peggy nods at a bench and Steve guides her over, sits next to her, his arm around the back of the bench. Peggy leans back. “They waited for decades, lived together, loved each other, until the day dawned in New York when they could be married. And now?” She holds a wrinkled hand out toward them. “Wedded bliss.”

“That’s wonderful. Good for them.” 

Peggy pats his knee hard, harder than Cap thought possible. “You really don’t know a bloody thing about anything, do you Rogers?”

“What? What was that for?” He speaks in a tone that is both teasing and slightly serious. “Peggy, is this your way to get me to propose to you? Because, you know I would. You’re still beautiful.” It is not a lie. Steve cannot help but see her as she was, 70 years younger.

At this Peggy presses her fingers to her lips as if trying to hold strong emotions at bay, but she rolls her eyes. “Steve, oh _Steve_ … I see that the serum didn’t quite give you super soldier sensibility.” She huffs, but kindly. “You are so _incredibly_ obtuse, perhaps willfully so.” 

She takes his hands in her own and for the first time since they reunited, it strikes him that she is, in all actuality, old. Her hands are bony and veined, spotted from years of exposure to the sun and life. They are powerful, indeed, but physically, she is every bit of her ninety+ years, and he sees that more acutely than ever. 

He realizes his pining away has been for naught. Peggy will tell him the same.

“To have such a handsome face, such a beautiful soul long for me, even after all these years, is a wonderful thing,” she says at last. “While I appreciate your offer, as it isn’t common for a 95-year-old widow to get such a proposal from a strapping fellow, I’m afraid I have to refuse.” He can see her eyes water, gathering along her lower lashes. “Not that I thought you were ever serious.”

“I was.”

“No.” She brings his knuckles to her lips and kisses them gently, placing them back in her lap to smooth them along her dry skin. “You are kind and generous, and I am a selfish woman, but not enough to keep you with me in my final years. Steve, you’re still so young! You aren’t even in your thirties yet.” 

He hunches over, the weight of the world bearing down on him, heavy and oppressive. “I feel old, Peggy,” he sighs. “I feel older than you, probably.”

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t have the rest of your life ahead of you, darling.” She shifts to face him and cups his cheeks. “You deserve a life with the person you are meant to be with. The one thing that our strange circumstances has told me is that I am simply not that person. I never was.”

Staring at her, he cannot help it. His chin trembles and he feels himself on the verge of breaking. “Peggy, I’m so sorry--” he whispers.

“Don’t be, you gorgeous fool.” Her lips are shaking likewise, and he knows that she is overcome as well. “I’ve lived a full life. Now, it’s your turn. Make up for all those years you lost.” She smooths a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You will find that person, you will spend the rest of your life with them, and you will make them the luckiest sonofabitch in the whole world.”

He falls into her and it is so strange that a 200-pound man would seek solace in the arms of a 100-pound elderly woman. But he does, he lets her hold him as he cries a little bit. For everything they lost. For what Bucky lost. He even lets himself feel sorry for himself. For only a minute.

Then he pulls back and wipes his face and sees that she is crying herself. “Sorry. I’m… yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, you men, with your codes and your need to be strong all the time.” Her voice is watery but she still smiles. She is radiant and beautiful, with the sunlight creating a golden halo around her face.

“There is one thing you can do for me, Rogers. If you are willing.”

Steve sniffs one last time and looks at her, his head resting on his hand. “Anything. Name it.”

“Take me back to my room, and let’s have that dance.”

He smiles, because how can he not? She is perfect. “Of course.” He reaches for her hand and when she stands up, he kisses her gently on her forehead.

It is only after he leaves the retirement home that he realizes Peggy never used any pronouns when she spoke of the love that awaits him and it scares him just how well Peggy sees things, even across time and space.

 

*

 

Rounding up the bad guys who were in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody when he brought down the Triskelion proves to be a long, arduous affair. The Avengers break it up into bits and pieces, trotting around the globe, following the trails of blood and crime.

Steve gets frequent updates from Sam, often filled with copious amounts of swearing, saying he is reconsidering Steve’s first offer because, really, he’s too old and handsome for this shit. Steve barely has to persuade Stark to donate the equivalent of a small country’s GDP to the veterans hospital in Sam’s name. That will ensure they keep his job open. Otherwise, he has no idea how to show Sam his gratitude.

Although he gets an idea when he returns to the safe house after the Avengers third mission and he sees Sam floundering badly with Agent 13.

Still amazed, but not really surprised, that she is related to Peggy, Steve has formed another friendship, another connection with her.  The first day they brought Bucky, _James_ , to this house, she finally told him her real name.

“I don’t understand,” he said to her as she was leaving. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping him and me, when you barely know me?”

Agent 13 smiled, enigmatic and cutting, and he has to hold back a grin because she reminds him so much of--

“Sergeant Barnes was important to a lot of people. My grandmother for one.”

“Oh. Did he and her used to…” He caught himself almost saying, “Fondue” and he smiled at the memory, smelling the jet engine fuel and Peggy’s perfume stronger than ever across the years, his chest feeling like it would cave in suddenly. 

“Was he your grandmother’s guy?”

She stepped up to him, only inches away. “My name is Sharon Carter, Cap.”

Dawning realization. “Carter? You’re… Peggy’s your… _Carter_?”

She turned to leave. “I’ll watch over him too, while you and Romanoff are gone.”

And watch over James she does. Sam is smitten instantly, so much so that he appears to have lost any ability to talk to her like a normal human being.

“When I say bird watching is sexy, I don’t really mean _sexy_.”

Sharon stares at him, baffled, amused, yet rather charmed. 

“I mean, women dig it. The ones I’ve taken. Not that I take a ton of women. I don’t. Well, I do date, women are practically lined up around the block.”

She smirks. 

“But… but I’m not like some player. Um…”

Steve does nothing to stop Sam’s verbal diarrhea. He wonders if this ever amused Bucky, the way he crashed and burned with girls, and after the shit week he’s had, he needs some entertainment. _This_ is entertainment of the highest order.

“Bird watching. Hm. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” She pivots on a sharply pointed heel and leaves, waving a goodbye to Steve and Sam flips him off.

“You could’ve stopped me at any time.”

“What? And miss the show?”

Sam takes the bags of groceries from him and walks toward the house. Once inside, Steve can hear the shower running in the bathroom; must be James. He silently hopes all is well. He focuses on Sam's rantings, smiling as he puts the food away.

“Man, I used to have fucking _game_. I get involved with you and this moose and squirrel shit, and now talking to Agent Carter’s some DaVinci Code level business. I see her and completely lose my mind. I said bird watching was _sexy._ It’s like I can’t stop the stupid from falling out of my mouth!” 

“I’m sure she thought you were nice.”

“Steve, a sunny day is _nice_. Dinner and a movie are nice. _You’re_ nice. Sam Wilson is a ladykiller.”

“Okay then, ladykiller, help me get this roast started for dinner.”

Sam glares at him. "You know how hard I hate you right now? So hard."

Steve gives Sam the week off and takes over Winter Soldier Watch.  There are more nightmares, so there are also more late night poker games, more watching cable television and old baseball games and baseball movies. _The Natural_ and _Field of Dreams_ end up being favorites and they definitely do _not_ make Steve cry, not at all. 

 

*

 

“You and Sam are miracle workers. He seems to be settling in all right.”

They are on the Quinjet and Natasha’s talking to Steve alone, Hawkeye and Bruce at the front of the plane. Iron Man and Thor are taking the scenic route, about 10,000 feet in the air around the perimeter. 

“He has nightmares. Tried killing me a couple of times when I woke him.”

Natasha flinches. “Sounds exactly like my own deprogramming. You can ask Clint. He went through a similar thing after Loki.”

“What can you ask Clint about?” the marksman asks over his shoulder.

“You after Loki.”

“After that fuckwad made mincemeat out of my brain? Man, Nat, thanks for the reminder.”

“Clint, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but how did you get past it?" Steve asks, not at all subtle, but he has learned that he needs not be around his team. "What Loki did?”

Clint laughs and looks over at Bruce, who has kind of become the unofficial therapist for the team. “I didn’t. I haven’t. Still fucks with me.”

Steve’s stomach drops.

“Steve, it takes time.” This is Bruce, wise and sage and angry-all-the-time Bruce Banner, who speaks more sense and more rationality than any of them combined. “What your friend’s been through, he needs time to work past the betrayal and anger and confusion. Not to mention whatever aftereffects are lingering in his head. It’s post-traumatic stress disorder plus.”

“I know that. My brain knows that. I just--” He looks over at Natasha, knowledge of what she will do if James becomes the Winter Soldier again, if the triggers don’t go away.  And Natasha _knows_ he knows. 

“I’m not saying it’s inevitable, Steve. But it could happen with him. It could happen even with me, even after all this time. And I expect one of you to take care of it.”

He sees Bruce’s face darken, and Clint’s jaw squares. “I hate it when you talk like that.”

“And I won’t stop saying it until I know that you’ll do it. The truth is hard to hear, sometimes.”  

Steve shuts his eyes, trying to push away Natasha’s cryptic pessimism.

 

*

 

Steve returns a week later, banged up horribly from an epic skirmish with Zemo and his people, but everyone is secure. For now.

It's late when he arrives to the safe house, leaving a grumbling Sam to go back to bed. Apparently, he’s still striking out in epic fashion with Sharon, but when Steve asks her about Sam, he doesn’t miss the fine spread of color crossing her pale cheeks. 

So, there is that.

He is in the bathroom, first aid kit and suturing instruments sterilized with a lighter. Sure the serum helps his healing, but his wounds will heal faster if he keeps them shut. And the ones he got tonight are deep and he has lost more blood than he would’ve liked.  

He’s in the middle of stitching together an open wound, when he hears footsteps approaching. Turning, he nearly tears the thread he is using to stitch up his wound. Steve hears a sympathetic hiss over his shoulder.

“Fucking hell. What, _who,_ did this to you.”

“Zemo.” He winces as he takes another pass with the needle, staring at his body in the mirror. He looks like a trainwreck -- broken nose mending itself finally, but his face looks like raw hamburger. His body is covered in cuts and bruises, thanks to a nifty bomb created by Zemo’s gang that shot explosives and shrapnel everywhere. Stark claims that “dickwad Zemo stole my JERICHO!” whatever that means, Steve apparently didn’t activate his ‘Stark-to-English’ translator today.

Steve has at least two, maybe three other cuts to seal up. Maybe five. He lost track

He flinches when he feels James’ metal hand touch his back, unsure if it is because of the wounds there or if because it is _Bucky_ making contact. Fingers run over his skin and Steve resists the urge to lean into them. They smooth across scars and bruises, stopping just short of the really bad open wounds. He catches James’ face in the mirror and there are all sorts of conflicting things running across his face, more expressive than ever.

How he notices that, Steve cannot say.

“You’re making it worse,” James finally croaks out.

“What? No I’m not.”

“Seriously, who taught you how to stitch yourself up?”

“You did,” Steve says, his voice still, “back in the orphanage, back in Brooklyn. Back during the war.”

“Well damn but I did a piss poor job of it.” He pulls away from Steve, but comes back to the bathroom with a chair and sits it facing the toilet, which is next to the sink. And a bottle of vodka, a bowl and a glass. “Sit.”

“You’re giving orders now? I’m the Captain.” The amount of levity, of teasing in Steve’s voice shocks even him, but he warms as James grins. 

“You talk too much. Sit.” Steve gives him a small salute, a smile and complies. “Drink,” James says, nodding at the bottle.

“Serum. Can’t get drunk.”

“Numbs the pain.”

He looks at James with his jaw set, feeling candid and exposed. “I don’t mind the pain.” 

The other man regards him cautiously. “Also, for sterilizing the tools and wounds.”

“Figured. We used to use Morita and Dum Dum’s moonshine on the field on our wounds.”

Another smile appears on James’ face. “Band of idiots,” he whispers.

“You remember?”

“Memories, yeah. I have a few. One’s that aren’t all ‘bout liquor and guns.” James sets about putting the needles in the alcohol, scissors too. Steve watches him as he folds a towel neatly and places each instrument on it in orderly fashion. He stops working for a second. “ _There once was a man from Nantucket…_ ”

Steve groans. “All the things you remember and Dum Dum’s horrible limericks is one of them.”

James shrugs and smiles that impossible _Bucky_ grin. “He was my kind of classy.”

“Your ‘kind of classy’ was worth two nickles in those peep shows doohickeys at Coney Island.”

“Can it, Rogers. You loved ‘em as much as I did.”

“Did not.”

“‘Girls of Spain’, right?” Steve blushes, remembering and Buck-- no, _James_ , laughs and laughs. “Y’always did like ‘em exotic. Big chested ladies with legs up to their chins and curves that went on an’ on. Like that Peggy gal. What happened to her? She still around?”

It is such a _Bucky_ conversation to be having, after so long of not having them and Steve feels shock and joy at hearing it, at hearing the slips of the Brooklyn accent weaving in and out of Bucky’s voice. But he does not say anything or do anything to destroy it, whether it is real or not, whether James is just saying these things to make Steve happy or whatever. 

Steve swallows, hoping his voice doesn’t crack. “Oh yeah. Feisty as ever, and just as gorgeous.”

“She must be, what? In her 90’s?”

“Just turned 95. We see each other once a week. Standing date.”

“Stevie Rogers, ladies man. Gettin’ them broads from New York to Albequerque. Never thought I’d see the day.” James smirks and it lights up something in Steve’s chest.

“Jerk. She’d love to see you, you know?”

“Oh yeah? Maybe. Yeah, I’d like that.” James snickers. “Maybe give Wilson a chance  with that pretty blond who comes by. Sharon, right?”

“Sharon _Carter._ ” Steve says, wincing as James applies alcohol-soaked cotton balls to his gaping wound on his chest, the one he was trying to suture earlier. “Peggy’s granddaughter, apparently.”

“Huh? No shit. No wonder she looks like she could skin an asshole with just a look. I remember your agent had that way about her. Man, I liked her.”

“Peggy would be all for it, seeing you again. She’d say she has the two handsomest suitors a 95-year-old could possibly want.”

James shakes his head. “She’s good, Steve. I’m…” He looks up after he puts the cotton ball aside. “I’m happy for you.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re getting married.”

“You’re not? Wait a min’… you proposed.” James grins. “Oh, Steve! Seriously? Man.”

Steve hems and haws. “I… kind of. I wanted her to know I was serious about her. Us.”  Something flickers across James’ face, but Steve does not acknowledge it, does not say anything, he just keeps talking. “But she turned me down.”

“Whoa! Okay, hold up.” James sets down his tools. “Captain America proposes to his 95-year-old girlfriend and she turns him _down_?”

“Bucky--” It just slips out because it is all so familiar and James just keeps talking, doesn’t even realize Steve said it and he whoops and laughs and claps his flesh and metal hands together.

“I’ve never… hoo boy! Okay, when this all said and done, you an’ me, Steve, we’re gonna have a sit down and talk dames because you’ve clearly learned nothin’.”

“Just shut up and get to mending me,” Steve is exasperated but _God_! This is the best conversation he’s had since waking up from the ice.

Taking a breath, calming himself, James sets to work with precision and skill, far more than he possessed in the 40‘s, and Steve tries to not think about all the times James has had to do this to himself throughout the decades.  James laughs and chuckles quietly and Steve has to tell him to shut up a few times. 

Actually, more than a few times, but the laughter is magical and wonderful and perfect, so Steve feels the stings with each poke of needle, with each pull of thread, with each dab of gauze that James applies, but he does not mind because it’s James.  James, who treats his skin and body like some sort of reverent object, a temple of worship. Gentle, deft with his fingers, Steve tingles every time they make contact. He struggles to breathe out evenly and steady, so as not to betray any physical reaction to Bucky’s touch.

 _James._ James’ touch.

For a moment, hands still on his chest, the gauze that James had been using sticks to his sweat.  “What?” Steve looks up at James, and James’ eyes are wide and his fingers tremble. He bites his lip before he answers.

“Jesus, I… I did do this for you a lot. Before. Ages ago.” 

“You did. All the time.”

“It just hit me, again. Like déjà vu.” James smiles, this time less confident than before. “You were a punk, weren’t ya?” He can see James’ neck move as he gulps down air. 

“Always had ‘em on the ropes.”

James exhales as he shakes, his hand now touching Steve’s chest. His fingers curl slightly against Steve’s skin, beaded with sweat and when the hell did it get so hot in here? 

Subtly, softly, his forefinger traces small circles on Steve, and James is a million miles away, in his own head. 

“That’s… I can’t… It’s hard to say, but I think. I think I… I’m...”

He doesn’t say anything else, only shakes his head and slowly comes around. 

“James?”

“Nothing. Nothing, just…” Blinking twice, he sets back to work with more focus and concentration than ever before, leaving Steve to feel a little more confused and a little more bereft than before.

 

*

 

On Steve’s next mission with The Avengers, a sojourn to Southeast Asia to locate one Madam Hydra, he and Natasha get frantic calls from Sam and Sharon.

“Bucky’s gone? How the hell did he get out?”

“He slipped me something in my fucking coffee and now we’ve got one HYDRA assassin AWOL! Goddamn… _Goddammit_!” 

“Shit.” It is so uncharacteristic for Steve to swear that the entire Quinjet stops and stares at him. “We’re in the air, and our ETA is in minutes. See what you can find out, track him and find him.” 

“Sharon’s already looking into it.” Natasha’s demeanor and tone are calm, but Steve can see the fear shaping in her eyes. 

They feel hopeless right now, Bucky in the wind and they are on a mission and there is absolutely nothing they can do about it. 

 

*

 

Until it becomes pretty clear _why_ Bucky went AWOL. Steve finds out fairly quickly.

They are being attacked by both physical and mystical forces once they touched down. Steve Rogers does not necessarily believe in magical, mysterious forces. But now that he’s encountered--

The Tesseract,

Thor,

Loki,

Alien armies,

\--nothing seems to be out of the realm of possibility. But some of the things he’s seeing right now -- soldiers multiplying before his very eyes, beams of energy emanating from their bodies -- they stump him. 

Even so, he fights harder than ever. And when one of his assailants goes down with a hit to the head, he knows that they’re mortal, and thank God for that blessing. They can be killed. They can be stopped.

“Thanks, Hawkeye,” 

“Um, for what?” Clint’s confusion is evident through his earpiece.

“For taking that guy out for me.” Steve sends his shield ricocheting off three walls, knocking out cold about seven assassins. 

“Yeah… I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Clint sounds as confused as Steve feels. “I’m not on your six.”

“No, but I am.”

His voice certainly is not expected, not after Sam told him he was missing, but Steve feels both shock and relief that Bucky is here, that he has his back… and somehow managed to get a gun and off several of Madam Hydra’s thugs with nary a detection from the rest of the crew.

“Who the hell is that?” “Who in the actual fuck?” Clint and Tony both make demands over their intercoms.

“Bucky, I won’t even ask how you’re here.”

“Yeah, better you don’t. Check your four, Cap.”

Steve knocks out an assailant at the position Bucky indicated, and kicks another two simultaneously, while a bullet whizzes over his head and takes out one and the assailant behind him. They work systemically for a few more minutes until all of the henchpeople are down. 

 

*

 

“So, Captain America gets an assist from a former HYDRA sleeper agent, who also happens to be a great American hero, who also happens to be his Brooklyn BFF from the 40’s? Yeah, that all sounds about right,” Tony Stark drolls away in the Quinjet. 

All of the Avengers are onboard plus one stowaway, who somehow snuck along for the ride. 

“Who’s this clown?” James leans over to Steve, who is perfectly aware he is _glowing_ in Bucky’s presence.

“Tony Stark.”

“Holy shit, really? Stark? As in _Stark_ Stark?”

“Hey!” Tony cuts in, pointing wildly at Bucky’s arm. “Sweet Cyborg Jesus, this arm is a thing of beauty, I’m taking a look.” He doesn’t so much invite himself as demands access to the cybernetics, and Steve stares at Tony in trepidation. “Tony, be careful.”

“Cap, I am never _not_ careful -- Wow! Okay, so this? This is the Rolls Royce of prosthetics.”

James, _Bucky_ … no, he is still James.  James stares at Tony as he manhandles his arm, studying it, pushing his face toward it.

“You ain’t really about the boundaries, are ya pal?”

The slip back into his old Brooklyn accent does not escape Steve’s notice. 

Natasha shuts off her phone. “Sharon and Sam are apprised of the situation.” She faces James. “So, how did you do it?”

“Hey! No super spy secrets until I get this sucker autopilot. I want details!” Clint appeared to be extremely excited at James’ appearance on the scene. Natasha shook her head while Tony mercilessly teased him. Steve thought he heard Tony call him a “fanboy,” whatever that means.

“I have my ways, Natashenka.” James gives her a devilish smile.

“Don’t you start with that. Start talking.”

Their little _tête-à-tête_ spills over into Russian, and then louder Russian, until Natasha finally walks away from an ensuing argument, because really, what use would it be to throw anyone out of the plane?  

“What was that about?” Steve asks. Bucky is still staring at Tony, who is still glomming over his arm and checking out what is what with it.  

“Hey! Ease up, buddy.” Bucky jerks his arm away from Tony. Tony has the wherewithal to throw his hands up in front of him.

“Easing up. But seriously, while the mechanics on this are crazy good, I can give you a fucking _spectacular_ arm for free. All you have to do is ask.”

James blinks, does not answer, and turns back to Steve. “Natasha’s not thrilled I’m exposing myself, but she would agree the cause is good, right?” He stares daggers at the redhead, who stares daggers right back. 

“Cause? What cause?”

James looks at Steve, blue eyes meeting his own. “Protecting your punk ass.” His jaw flexes and Steve can only gaze at him. 

“I didn’t think you cared.” Steve hopes his dry delivery belies the nervousness in his chest, the heat in his guts, the thought that this might mean something more.

“What? Just because I’m a notorious assassin doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.”

“Didn’t say you didn’t.”

James considers things, mulls something over before he speaks. “Look, seeing you cut up, hurt like that. You need someone watching your back.”

Steve chuckles, because, really? This is just like all the conversations they had before the war and during the war. Before Bucky fell.  “Does it help that I have a whole team watching my back? I watch theirs.”

“Still ain’t good enough. When you came back from that last mission, you looked like somethin’ someone chewed up ‘n’ spat out.”

The Brooklyn accent fades in and out, but it is there and Steve latches onto that little bit of hope. 

“That bad?”

“It’s just…” James takes another deep breath, licks his lips, and shuts his eyes. “When you’re around, I feel more _human_ , okay? More like I’m connected to somethin’. To you. If, God forbid, anything happens to you and I lose that, I dunno what I’d do.”

Well, that leaves Steve speechless. He simply stares back, in awe at his friend. He wonders whether every emotion is plain on his face.

They are interrupted by snapping fingers. “Yo! Hey, don’t mean to break the mood but I _really_ need to get all up in this metal arm, what d’ya say, Gross Point Blank?”

“Shut up, Stark,” Steve and James say together, in perfect unison.

 

*

 

They return and soon enough, Tony Stark invites James over to his workshop, which doesn’t end up being a horrible idea. In fact, Steve starts regretting it after James spends about an hour around Tony.

“Usually when I let people fuck with me as long as you have, I get dinner and drinks first,” James says, smirking. 

“Are all former assassins this demanding? Wow. Although you _would_ be a cheap date; AARP, senior citizen’s discounts at the IHOP, pancakes for every meal -- screwdriver.” Tony has his hand out, and DUM-E, Tony’s not-so-bright robot, rolls over with a wrench instead. “What did I tell you, scrap heap? It’s either this or metalshop at the community college. Now, get it right. Screw. Driver.”

The chastened robot returns, this time with the right tool. Tony gives it a pat on its head and James stares at the thing. 

“Does it understand you?”

“Not to get all philosophical on you, but do any of us _really_ understand each other? Now hold the fuck still or this might stop your heart. Or explode. Not really sure--”

“Stark!”

“Kidding, Cap! Jeez. You need to lighten up, old man.”  

Steve blushes when Buc, no -- James. When _James_ laughs at him.

It is getting worse and worse now, the lines blurring between who this man was and who this man is. Steve sees so much of Bucky Barnes now, more than ever, and though the strong glimmers of Bucky shines through, the man is still more Winter Soldier, more _James_ than anything. 

The sharp pangs of his chest hurt worse now, every time he gives hope to the possibility of Bucky returning in full, of the memory of the conversation in the Quinjet just a couple of days ago. How he can tamper down on these emotions, these feelings for this man, a stranger but _not_... He does not know.

He can only let things play out the way they are meant to.

Tony makes a few more adjustments, and James tries not to bolt, though he absolutely looks like he is ready to bolt, but that’s not a Winter Soldier thing, that is really a Bucky Barnes thing because Bucky was always an impatient bastard. 

And then, it is done. 

Steve focuses on the arm, not on the body of the man attached to it, no matter how revealing his white tank is. It _is_ very revealing, very tight, and very clingy to all of James’ muscles. The sweat, too, and the longer hair, do not help Steve to tear his attentions away from his friend, but he tries valiantly to.

The arm matches James’ muscles inch by inch. The metal smooth vibranium to absorb the impact of bullets and stronger firearms. It looks similar, but James describes how it fits almost perfectly into his joint, how it’s starting to feel seamless in a way that the older arm did not. 

Then Tony starts showing him all the gadgetry that he threw in -- “A freebie, a ‘friend-of-a-friend’ discount,” -- and the fact that Tony Stark, for all his flashy ego-driven persona, considers Steve a friend and is willing to help Bucky out for absolutely nothing makes Steve feel warm inside. 

James walks around the workshop, checking out the arm in the mirrors and the windows of the workshop, leaving Cap and Tony alone. 

“So, great big old gay elephant in the room--”

Steve stares at Tony. “Pardon?”

“Right. We’re _not_ going to talk about the fact that you keep eyefucking your buddy? Because, yeah, I know I’m with Pepper, but even I can appreciate fine male specimens, however you’re taking oogling to a whole new lev-”

Steve cannot bear to hear Tony prattle on so, so he slams a hand over his mouth. “Would you shut it?” He pulls his hand away when he feels Tony lick his palm.

“Come on! That’s disgusting.”

“You’re right. I don’t know where your hand’s been.”

“You… why…” Steve tries to say whatever, but it’s all fits and starts and half formed thoughts in the haze of his brain. “I don’t… you have no…”

“Wow, I did _not_ realize how easy it could be to break you. So look, to recap… you, him.” Tony pumps his fist lewdly and Steve hides his blood-red face behind his hands. “You need to talk to him about all this homoerotic lust in your heart. Either that or just take him straight to bed. Because where I’m standing, he’s doing the same thing with you, I’m all in the middle of it, and I’m _thisclose_ to asking Pep for permission for a threesome with two gorgeous nonagenarians.”

“Tony, I swear to God, you need to stop talking now.”

 

*

 

Steve and James go up to Steve’s apartment in Avengers Tower, the first time James is seeing the place. They are staying here for a little while, to allow Tony to fix up his arm and really get it working, really make it perfect. Also, Steve wants to give Sam a break, if not let him off Bucky Barnes babysitting duties all together. He has already asked Wilson for so much, and Sam looked like he wanted to slug Bucky the moment they returned from apprehending Madam Hydra and her sycophants. 

“I don’t like being drugged, you dig?”

James managed to look chastened. “There was no other way to get out though.”

“Still,” Sam says, poking James in the chest. “You could’ve asked. Wily fucking bastard.”

Sam didn’t slug Bucky, he just settled on throwing him dirty looks. So, Steve figures, this would be a good time to work up a backup plan and keep Bucky with him at all times. Not that he’s being selfish and wanting Bucky all to himself. No, definitely not.

Now they are here, at the tower, at Steve’s place.  James whistles as the door slides shut. 

“That man Stark. Spares no expense, huh?”

“Like father, like son.” Steve pauses. “Don’t tell Tony that.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Daddy issues?” 

Snorting, Steve replies, “A whole army tank full of ‘em.”

“Greetings, sirs.” Steve is prepared for J.A.R.V.I.S.’ interruption, but James is not, and he crouches in attack mode as the smooth British voice fills the room. Turning around, he sees nothing, of course. “Ms. Potts has asked me to make sure you are settled in for the evening and if there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask.”

“Jesus! What the hell?” 

Steve suppresses the urge to laugh. “J.A.R.V.I.S., Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. James Barnes, this is J.A.R.V.I.S. He’s, um, Tony’s assistant.” He points at the ceiling and James is looks around him, trying to figure it out.

“Pleasure to meet you Sergeant Barnes. You will find an assortment of clothes and toiletries in the guest bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Ms. Potts has made sure to stock the kitchen with your favorite foods and drinks. The bar, too, has been replenished for your pleasure.”

“He’s... this Jarvis? He’s for real?” James asks, finger aimed at the ceiling. “You for real?”

“I am, as you put it, ‘for real’. I am at your service.”

“Oh my God!” James laughs and it is such a _Bucky_ laugh. “Okay! Okay, then Jeeves--”

“Pardon me, but it is J.A.R.V.I.S., sir.”

“Sorry, man. J.A.R.V.I.S. It’s, um, wow! Pleased to meet ya.”

“Thank you.” Steve can hear the mollified tone of the AI and laughs at the whole exchange. James is still looking agog at the ceiling, turning slowly around, talking to J.A.R.V.I.S who is patiently humoring his questions. It is a bizarre sight to see, and Steve realizes, _this is the future._ He is sharing this with his best friend and how much better can this get? 

He realizes he hasn’t stopped looking at Buck- _James_ (he’s not sure whether he’ll ever stop thinking of him as Bucky first), rather oogling him as Tony so not-eloquently put it, and he reigns it in lest he get too obvious in his attraction to the other man. 

“So, um, guess we gotta get you settled.”

He’s regarding James with what he hopes is kind, friendly eyes, but there’s something in James’ eyes that he can’t quite figure out, can’t quite explain and it is frightening but a little hot at the same time. 

James approaches him, slowly at first, a smile tugging at his lips, and the closer he gets, the more the room spins. 

“So, I saved your ass. Again, apparently.”

“Apparently.” Steve has to look away, James’ gaze is too much. 

James stops about a foot away and licks his lips. “Yeah, so I… I, um, there’s this thing and it’s in my head and I’m not sure what to…” His eyes are right on him and Steve meets his gaze and there is this questioning _thing_ in them and it is also mixed with something else, something hotter and wanting… maybe Steve is projecting his own desires, but he cannot really say. 

“Just spit it out, James. It’s me you’re talking to.”

“I know. That’s just it. It’s… it’s _you,_ and if I mess this up, I… Dammit! I can’t, you know? Mess this thing up. It’s the best thing I have right now,” James says, frustration and anger building, his metal finger sweeping the space between them. “You’re this thing, _the thing_ in my life, and… fuck it, I’m not explaining this right.”

“Buck- James, I mean. You don’t have to watch what you say to me. Just say it, or do it. It’s me. I’m not gonna judge you.”

James exhales twice, both times heavy and long. “Yeah. Yep, okay then. Fuck it.” 

He closes the gap between him and Steve, wraps a hand behind Steve’s head, and pulls him toward his face, lips meeting lips. And, oh.

 _Oh_!

It is when he feels James’s tongue against his lips, pleading for entry, that Steve realizes James, no, _Bucky,_ is kissing him. Before he can stop himself, his body responds. He falls against the wall, 200 pounds of muscly former HYDRA assassin and metal arm pressed tight against him, head turning to gain better access to his mouth. It’s not an elegant kiss by any means, not that Steve’s had much experience in that department, but it is rough. Passionate. Fantastic. 

Steve pours a million years of yearning and love into it, his tongue licking inside, finding ways to keep Bucky attached to him. For his part, Bucky seems to be willing to go further. Hands, both metal and flesh, roaming all over Steve’s body, lifting up his shirt and touching bare skin. A dirty moan escapes from the back of Bucky’s throat and Steve thrusts his body against Bucky’s thighs, almost like instinct.  

Sense catches up with him, and he pulls away, like he’s been shocked. 

“Wait! What a minute… Oh God, what just happened?”

“Shit. Dammit! Shit, _fuck_! I’m… yeah, sorry.” Bucky pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and steps further away. “But you started kissing me back, and I just thought…”

“What was that? Why did you--” Steve cannot finish the thought, but he tries to keep talking. “Did you mean it?”

Bucky turns around and faces him, his arms down by his sides. “Of course I fucking did! I’ve been wanting to since--”

“You’ve what?”

“God, ever since I remembered. Ever since I fought you and my memories came flooding back! I’ve been… Fuck, Steve!”

They are talking over each other, in half-completed exclamations and swears and excuses.

“It’s… you’re confused, that’s all, Buck.”

“And when I came to, when you were there, in front of me with that crazy costume, I _knew_ it then, but I didn’t want it. You don’t deserve it. You’re _you,_ and you don’t need me all damaged goods and homicidal--”

“Bucky, listen, it’s… it’s all part of your recovery. No big deal. I just--”

“Steve! _Goddammit_ Steve, I’m fucking in love with you!”

The silence echoes. Steve stands in front of him. “But that’s… that’s not. You said, _you said_ , and I quote, ‘I can’t feel whatever he did for anyone. It’s gone. Sorry.’ And now, what? What, Bucky? That was a lie?”

The other man regards him and his chest is lodged stuck right in his throat. He cannot focus on anything else except for Bucky and the sound of his own heartbeat. 

“Everyone lies, sometimes. I felt it. Felt everything. For you, at least. Seemed like it was the better option to lie about it though.”

Steve shakes his head slow. “No. No, Buck, that isn’t the better option.” Before Bucky can tell him no, it’s Steve’s turn to dive for that beautiful mouth, open with disbelief. Bucky’s mouth is all chapped lips and soft tongue and sharp teeth, and it is perfect and Steve cannot stop, does not want to ever stop tasting him.  

They are backing toward the living room and though he is not really sure what he is doing, Steve knows that he _wants_ this in a way he has never ever wanted anything before, Steve is dragging Bucky to his bedroom. They are attached everywhere -- lips, tongues, teeth biting skin and the curves of jaw and neck. Bucky has shrugged out of his jacket and now is back in that god-blessed tank and the door has already slid shut.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.” Steve is out of breath and he stares at Bucky, determined and aroused, even though he’s addressing a disembodied AI. 

“Yes sir?”

“Privacy settings? No one comes in.” 

“Understood.”

That’s all it takes for Steve to pounce on Bucky. He tears the tank top from Bucky’s body and takes him in, drowns in him, his hands running over scars. There are so many scars. Steve has no idea what to do here, this is like nothing he’s ever been through before, but he wants to taste Bucky’s skin, feel Bucky’s body against his tongue. The look Bucky gives him says he wants the exact same thing. So.

They are tangled all over each other, legs, arms, tongues, mouths. This is strange territory for Steve, never mind that it is with a man, never mind that it is _Bucky_ , never mind his thoughts and fantasies ever since their youthful days. But Steve doesn’t stop. He can’t; the more Bucky touches his face, his skin, his body, the more he loses himself in the moment.

Bucky hovers above him, nibbling and licking up and down Steve’s neck, and he responds with pleased moans, huffs of aroused breath, and steady grinding of his hips against his.

“God… _Bucky_ ,” Steve says in a strangled voice. “Don’t stop.”

He feels Bucky run the tip of his nose over his cheek. “Pal, I don’t ever plan on stoppin’. Been waitin’ far too long to do this to ya.”

That familiar rhythm of his speech, the cadence of his Brooklyn accent. It all comes rushing back to Steve and he catches himself.

“Bucky, Bucky… wait,” he says, lifting his body up, his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. The pause in their affectionate clinch seems to stun Bucky who sits up straightaway and runs his hands through his shaggy hair.

“Shit. Dammit, I knew this was a bad idea.” Bucky lets out a stream of swears, timed with several powerful punches to Steve’s mattress, and Steve comes around and takes Bucky’s face in his hand.

“Wait! Wait a sec, Buck.” He calms Bucky down slowly, his hands cupping his cheeks, shushing him softly. “Sorry, I want… except, this is… Dammit.” Steve averts his eyes, shuts them, sucks in a breath. “This is kind of all going a little too fast, for me at least.”

Bucky stares at him, then his eyes narrow. “Whaddya mean ‘too fast,’ Rogers?”

“I mean… this is, um, my first… My first.” 

Bucky’s narrowed eyes go wide with comprehension. “You mean you never?”

Steve shakes his head. “And, believe me, I want to. With you, I mean. But I… it’s a little… just a lot, for now, okay?”

Laughing a little, there is sadness in Bucky’s expression as he backs away and makes to sit against Steve’s wooden headboard, and he gently taps the back of his head against one of the panels.  

“As far as I’m concerned, Stevie, this even happening is insane. I’m sorry I drug ya into my mess.”

“I was already in it.” Steve says, sliding near Bucky, his bare arm touching his friend’s metal one. He runs his finger alongside the back of Bucky’s hand, smiling almost to himself as the contact elicits a wiggle.  

“Y’know I’m a disaster, right?” Bucky taps the side of his head. “Potential bomb, waiting to go off.”

Steve gazes at him, losing himself in those blue eyes, and… wow! There’s no chill, no death lingering there now, at least in this moment. Bucky’s eyes are more alive than they’ve ever been and Steve thinks that _has_ to mean something. “I have faith.”

“Faith is for children.” Bucky swallows, focus fixed completely on him. “You’re an idiot for putting so much in me. I’m a weapon.”

“What? You think this was designed to sell ice cream and vacuum cleaners?” Steve sweeps his hand down his body. “We’re _both_ the sum of our parts and we’re both more than that.” He interlocks their fingers together. “I’m with you. I’ve always been. I always will be.”

For the first time since their battle on the bridge, Steve sees Bucky on the verge of letting loose a typhoon of emotions. The giveaway is that chin of his, trembling as if a leaf on the wind.

So Steve rests his thumb in the cleft there and steadies him and touches their lips again, this time in softer fashion. He tastes his love for Bucky, Bucky’s love for him, and all of their apologies, their mutual promises, the covenants sealed between them without words but in actions. 

 

*

 

It is no time at all that Bucky is out of the safe house, moving in with Steve in Avengers Tower. 

Sam comes around to the tower that first week quite often, he and Bucky having shook hands and Bucky apologizing for being a a bit of a shit while Wilson watched him. Sam is a hit with the rest of the crew. Hawkeye loves him, because of Natasha, and Tony loves him because he makes Tony’s products look good - hell, better than Tony himself sometimes. He and Bruce get to know each other a little; apparently Sam is into yoga, or maybe Sharon is and Sam wants to impress her, so Bruce and he talk about that and meditation. Steve certainly thinks meditation can only improve Sam’s overall mental state which seems to ride a high-wire act at times. Sam also stares at Thor in awe and Bucky speculates that Sam may have a tiny crush on the god of thunder, but Sharon and Sam are a thing now so it is probably most likely mere mortal awe.

Maybe it is also a slight man crush.

Sharon is around sometimes as well, claiming that she is not there at the tower in any capacity with S.H.I.E.L.D. She is the commander of what remains of the intelligence organization, at the side of Maria Hill, the new head of the agency. 

There is also plenty of villainy to keep the team on their toes. Every once in a while, Sharon and Sam join in on the fun. Bucky is pretty much an Avenger himself, and he hasn’t been triggered, hasn’t shot up any good guys. No, he saves his bullets for their enemies. 

There is no coming out to the rest of the team. Before, he was just _Steve Rogers_. Now, he is _Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes_ , and they are together, albeit taking things very slowly.  He thinks, does not know for sure, that there may have been a pool of some sort; there is a moment where Steve sees Natasha slipping Bucky some money while shaking her head with a smile. Bucky walks away from it with a smirk and a wink and Steve realizes he is holding his breath as he watches him move.

He is the luckiest bastard in the world. 

While Steve doesn’t take it for granted that it will always be like this, that Bucky will never have another episode, that Bucky will never be triggered, he savors having Bucky at his back after all this time, living with him at his place in the tower. Both of them still have nightmares, vivid, graphic ones filled with ice and menacing faceless men speaking in Russian and Polish and German. A skull painted red with blood fills Steve’s head at night, followed by unearthly light and the pull and suck of a black hole. Steve still dreams of his plane crash. Bucky still dreams of HYDRA’s Department X and mutilated bodies and guns and death. 

They wake up, find each other and play cards or watch movies or drink until they crash. Then one night, Bucky crawls into Steve’s bed for comfort, but not for any funny business though they do kiss and grope and fondle. And fondle a little bit more, Steve’s hands are shakier and more tentative than Bucky’s. That is all right too, because, hey, exploring is fun. 

And that night, they sleep pretty soundly together.

 

*

 

They get back from a boatload of Doombots causing trouble on Wall Street and threatening the markets with literal violence, making it in time for a dinner date with Peggy, Sharon, and Sam.  

 

Bucky and Peggy were not the best of friends during the war, but there was mutual respect and admiration. Bucky knew what Peggy meant to Steve, and Peggy was a perceptive, modern dame for the Forties. She knew a thing or two back then about unorthodox relationships between men and women, had seen a few examples during her army career. Nothing she would ever expose to the outside world, but enough for her to know that it is normal and perfectly okay, sod the silly laws that need to catch up with reality. 

Being around both Peggy and Sharon, Steve can see the resemblance. Not in physical appearance, but in mannerisms and demeanor. Sharon was adopted by Peggy and Gabe Jones’ daughter and her husband, both of whom, in turn, died in a car accident when Sharon was only six. Sharon came to live with Peggy and Gabe from that day forward, idolizing her grandmother and following in her footsteps to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. Which is understandable, Steve says to Bucky, and Bucky agrees of course. 

“Every Fourth of July, we watched old newsreels of the Howling Commandos and your little performance with the USO.” Sharon takes a sip of her wine and Peggy howls with laughter. They are at Sharon’s place, at the dining table, stuffed full of prime rib and roasted vegetables and red wine. 

“Oh, that one is a classic, indeed.” Peggy raises her glass.

“Please tell me you kept the USO stuff!” Bucky pleads. “I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it actually happen.” He looks at Steve with mock innocence.

“Bucky, no--” His protests are meek and muffled behind his hand. Sam is clapping as well.

“Yes, for the love of all that is good, I can _not_ think of a better possible ending to this evening than watching you,” Sam says, jabbing a traitorous finger at Steve’s general direction, “gettin’ your patriotic on!” 

“Et tu, Wilson.”

Sam shrugs and smiles dangerously. “Payback’s a pain ain’t it, Rogers?” And Steve’s not sure what, exactly, it is payback for - for letting him flounder with Sharon at first, for the whole Bucky thing, for kind of being a disaster ever since he met Sam.

When Steve thinks about it in those terms, letting Sam and Bucky see the horror show probably evens everything out in the grand scheme of things.

Sharon gives Sam a pat on his chest, letting her hand linger there for a moment, and she and Peggy make their exits. They beckon for the others to follow them into the living room, where the TV is turned on and the freeze frame is just… 

Well, it is Steve in his ill-fitting USO costume and he already feels his stomach dropping and Bucky is sniggering into a clenched fist and Sam is whooping and whistling and Doombots and Zemo have nothing on the Carters. Why can’t the earth just open up under all of their feet to stop this torture from happening?

Yet, happen it does, in horrible Technicolor glory.

“It’s colorized?” Steve says, his hands hiding his face because yep, he can barely look at himself. He looks around, anywhere but the screen, he doesn’t see a projector. It must be on those DVD and, oh for Pete’s sake he hopes these things are not for sale.

“I had Papa and Nana’s newsreels and archival footage of everything Captain America digitized years ago,” Sharon explains. “A huge Christmas present for them.”

“And a very merry one at that, dear.” Peggy lifts her glass to her granddaughter. 

Sharon’s expression recedes from its glowing happiness to melancholy. “It was Papa’s last Christmas too, but he loved it. Favorite film, he’d always say.” 

Peggy sucks in a breath, the smile falling only a little but lingering as the screen plays out. “Gabe got one last chance to watch it.” Peggy turns to Steve and Bucky. “He would’ve been so happy to see you both alive and here again, you know?”

The embarrassment that Steve had been feeling changes. The vision of him dancing and punching fake Hitler on screen blurs, and now, instead, he sees all the faces of the Commandos, sitting around a campfire, eating the horrible slop Dum Dum and Jones mucked up for them. They are speaking of dames and places back home, and anytime they ask Steve a question about either, Bucky quickly nudges him with his arm, a knowing look in his eyes. 

Bucky must sense the feeling of wistful nostalgia rolling off Steve like tidal waves, so he takes Steve’s hand and gives him a little squeeze. Suddenly Steve feels better and more alive and he watches the rest of the footage without his hand hiding his face. 

Though it does not stop him from cringing so.

 

*

 

It is getting late and the boys escort a tired Peggy back to her house.  Bucky looks content, which is definitely a first. His arm is bent and Peggy’s hand is wrapped around his elbow. 

“You know,” she says in between yawns, “for a scoundrel, you certainly know how to show an old woman a good time, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky bows his head and smirks. “Looks like they couldn’t brainwash the charm outta me.”  

“Careful Peggy, you’re going to make his head even bigger than it already is.” But Steve says it with a smile.

“I highly doubt that, Rogers. I’m pretty sure unless your last name is Stark, heads don’t get much bigger than Barnes’ over here.” There is a glow about her as she gives Bucky a couple of pats on the cheek.  “You really are a wonderful sight for these old eyes.”

Steve notices that Bucky looks choked up, can barely look at Peggy with eyes that threaten to spill. Bucky rubs his lips, scratches the back of his neck, and hesitates before saying anything. “Still as beautiful as ever, Agent Carter.” His voice comes out raspy and cracking, right on the verge of breaking.

Peggy seems affected by Bucky too, but before she responds, she reaches into her big bag (how Peggy can walk around with such a thing attached to her and not fall over is a miracle of the ages) and pulls out a flat rectangular object that he cannot quite make out in the dark. But when he leans in closer, he sees it is a framed picture.

“I have something for you, Bucky Barnes. Now that I think of it, maybe I’ve been keeping it safe for you this entire time.”

When she turns it over, Bucky smiles, and the smile is broad and beaming and full of life. Steve, himself, feels his heart skip a beat. Within the borders of the solid wood frame, there is a picture of him taken during basic. It was taken before the serum, of him with his hair blowing in the wind, his dog tags hanging around a too-skinny neck, pressed against a white shirt that would’ve been too big for a child. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky breathes out and he reaches for it with a shaking hand, the flesh one, taking it gently from her. “D’ya see yourself, Rogers?”

Steve laughs. “You kept that thing? Had it with you the whole time?”

“Don’t look so surprised, boys. I brought it with me when I started up with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Gabe insisted we display it prominently at the table with the rest of the Commandos at our reception.” Peggy wipes at her face. “You should know the Commandos left two chairs open at their table, for the both of you.”

Steve’s heart skips.  “They did? Really?”

Peggy nods. “There wasn’t even a question that that would happen. Dum Dum and Dernier and Morita drank enough to make up for both of you as well. You’ll be pleased to know they made absolute idiots of each other.”

It is a joke, but Peggy is crying though her tears fall subtle and soft, but it causes both Steve and Bucky to sniffle as they stare back and forth at the picture and her. 

Finally, after trying to shake it off, Bucky hands her the picture back. “Thanks.”

“What part of ‘ _I have something for you, Bucky Barnes…’_ ’ do you not understand?”

“I… Peggy, nah. I can’t take this.” To stop his protests, she wraps her hands around his, which still grasp the edges of the picture. 

“It is yours. I don’t know if this fellow had many other pictures of him before the serum just lying around,” she says, nodding at Steve, “but you, the both of you really, should have it.”

“Peggy--”

“That’s an order, Sergeant.” The smile that crosses Peggy’s face is filled with affection, aimed at both of them. “It is the least I can do, I think, after everything that’s happened to the both of you.” 

Her eyes travel between their faces. With a single nod, she turns around slowly and walks back up the stairs.  “Now, I must bid you both a good night. I still require my beauty sleep.”

“You’re beautiful no matter what, Peggy Carter.”

“Steven Rogers,” she says over her shoulder, “you're impossible.” She blows both of them a kiss and enters the building.

 

*

 

Steve comes out of the shower and sees Bucky on his bed, his own hair still wet from cleaning up earlier and a towel covering his waist. His body is bent over and his metal hand clutches the picture Peggy gave to him, fingers from his other hand tracing over Picture-Steve’s skinny jaw.  

“You still looking at that?” Steve says as he sits down.

Bucky shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving the picture. “Can’t stop.”

“You have a thing for skinny fellas?” He asks Bucky in an almost joking way.

“There was this one skinny fella, back in Brooklyn. I’d have kissed him if he let me.”

Except that cannot be right. “C’mon, Buck. I thought you were into girls.”

“I thought you were too. Girls are nice, but… they ain’t you, pal.”

He feels himself blushing at the admission, the tips of his ears going hot. “I was barely anything back then.”

Bucky jabs at him sharply with his elbow. “You were _everything_ back then, Steve.” He almost recoils from the sharp glare from Bucky’s too bright eyes. “You have no idea what it was you did to me when we were in Brooklyn.”

He cannot hide his disbelief. “Really? Me, in that skinny body.”

“Hey chump, I saw ya more often without clothes on than with, and lemme just say you were no slouch in the handsome department.”

“Buck, really?” 

He looks off into the distance, shaking his head slowly, remembering. “Thought you were beautiful. Delicate and tough and sharp-”

“Bony, more like.”

“You were perfect back then,” Bucky says, angling the picture toward Steve. “You’re perfect now, just now everyone sees in ya what I saw back then. I miss ya from back then, sometimes, miss that your no longer my little secret.”

At this, Steve wraps a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and draws him closer. “Well, except the things we do in here. That stuff’s secret.”

Bucky waggles his eyebrows at that. “Y’know, that was one thing that made me question Peggy’s intentions towards ya; whether she wanted you or what the serum made you. But, talkin’ a little to her back then--”

“You talked to her about me?”

Bucky smirks. “Buddy, I talked about you to anyone who’d listen! Yeah, I asked her what her intentions were towards ya. The way she talked aboutcha in basic, how determined ya were to finish, to prove everyone wrong, how sweet and kind and stubborn y'were… she showed me she was for real. I really liked her ever since then.”

Blushing, Steve pulls the framed picture away from Bucky’s grasp.  “Wasn’t finished with that,” Bucky protests, but stops protesting when Steve guides him onto his back on the bed.

“Oh yeah?” He starts kissing at the curve of Bucky’s shoulder and neck, making his way down toward the part where Bucky’s metal arm connects to his body.  He hears a sigh, feels fingers twine through his hair, as he kisses the scars there and along his chest.  

There have been handjobs and rutting and a whole lot of touching. Bucky did give him the most incredible first blow job ever, but it has taken Steve a while to get comfortable with this new physical aspect of their relationship. But tonight, whether it was the fantastic dinner, the trip down memory lane that emphasized to Steve that, really, this was probably fate for them to be together like this, that they are young and free to love on each other, he doesn't know. But he makes up his mind to give Bucky something back, to not take this time together for granted. Resolute in his mission, Steve feels himself hard against Bucky’s body, and Bucky responds in kind. He takes Bucky’s arms and pins them with all his might against the mattress. 

Bucky stares back up at him, eyes dark with want. “What’cha thinkin’ pal?”

Nuzzling his nose and burying his tongue along Bucky’s collarbone, Steve grins. “Think it’s time I tried a little something new on you.”

“Really?”

“Remember what you did to me a couple of nights ago?”

He feels Bucky shifting under him, and... Yes. Yes, judging by the degree of hardness coming from Bucky’s crotch, he does indeed remember.

“How’d you like one for yourself?”

Bucky’s only response is a gurgle followed by a sandy expletive, but Steve is already, _slowly_ , making his way down his body. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist as his tongue lingers over rock solid abs, sucking and licking, eliciting graphic sounds from Bucky’s mouth. Hands reach down to tangle in Steve’s hair, the pressure from them, paired with the animalistic noises sputtering from Bucky urges Steve down, down _down_ …

He unfurls the soft cotton towel riding low on Bucky’s hips, nuzzling his nose into the tantalizing patch of rough hair and skin just above his target. Steve takes a chance to look up, to see Bucky’s face. He is shaking in anticipation, licking his lips, as if trying to find his proper voice.

“Stevie, man… you don’t gotta.”

With a small smirk that completely throws Bucky off, Steve looks down at -- yeah. 

 _Yep_. 

"Oh yeah, Buck. I gotta."

Seeing him hard and ready for him, it honestly is the most magnificent thing he has ever beheld. So, he does what he should have done ages ago, and (while cursing his prudishness) Steve grasps the sensitive skin. It fits perfectly in his hand, like it has before, and this time, he kisses the tip, letting it go just into his mouth, right past his lips. Steve holds Bucky’s hips down on the bed before he can thrust upward on the sensation alone; basically, exactly what Steve did the first time Bucky did this to him.

Having a dick inside his mouth is a far different sensation than holding a dick in his hands or simply feeling Bucky’s cock rubbing against his body. Obviously, there’s a distinct but pleasant taste, musky and something akin to smoke and sunlight, Steve cannot exactly say what. But it also fills him up, tickles his tongue as he glides it down the length, the way it sweeps around and slicks a path for his hand to follow. 

His hands are still holding Bucky’s hips down, but more for the fun of it, to let Steve do all the work, fucking him with his mouth. Bucky’s hips vibrate and shake beneath his palm, and Steve lets him move just a little, his head working in tandem to create a delicious, agonizing rhythm. He works methodically, carefully, his memory of what Bucky did to him days ago still fresh in his head. Steve takes that knowledge with his Super Soldier brain and he uses it to tactical advantage here. He goes slow and deliberate down Bucky’s cock, using his tongue to apply pressure to areas that elicit all sorts of creative cursing from Bucky.

Every time he looks up at Bucky as he bobs his head down on him, Bucky stares back at him as if he cannot believe this is happening, as if this will suddenly disappear on him. 

“St-Steve… oh motherfucking _Christ on a cracker_ Steve! Goddamn your pretty fucking mouth.”

For all his prudishness, for all of his Catholic upbringing, Steve realizes he _loves_ it when Bucky swears at him and takes the Lord’s name in vein. So he keeps plunging, and when the sounds coming from Bucky change to something more gutteral, more primal--

“ _Nnnngh_!”

Steve knows Bucky’s close. So he sucks in his cheeks and Bucky’s breath starts speeding up.

“Fuck Steve! Fuck, fuck… _Fuck!_ I’m gonna--” And Bucky tries to pull Steve’s head off of him, but Bucky didn’t pull off when he did it for Steve, and Steve wants the full experience, so.

So.

Bucky is a screamer when he comes, filling Steve’s mouth with liquid heat. He nearly chokes because it is so much and so strange, but yet it’s a part of Bucky and really, it would be more messy to spit it out. So Steve keeps eyes focused on Bucky’s face, which is hard to do because Bucky’s chest keeps rising and falling and he is covered in sweat.  When Steve pulls off, the stuff’s already gone down his throat, and the fact that Bucky is _inside_ of him turns him on more than he already was before. 

“Jesus, you swallowed?” Bucky pants out. Steve nods and he is barely back besides him when Bucky flips him over and dives for Steve’s crotch with his own head, voraciously feasting on cock for only a few moments before Steve comes himself.

Bucky falls back on the bed, next to Steve who is sweaty and spent for at least the next couple of minutes. That was another thing about the serum no one explained -- Steve’s newfound virility and refractory period, which he finds comes in very handy with Bucky’s own. 

“I love you, pal. Y’know that?” Steve drawls out.

Bucky snorts. “Bet y’ just say that to all the fellas who suck you off.”

Steve turns onto his side and pulls Bucky’s face toward his. “I love you. No joke. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Likewise here, Rogers.”

They kiss, the taste of their bodies mingling in their mouths. When they break apart, instead of going in on each other for seconds, Bucky curls up against him, his forehead pressing against Steve’s nose.  

“Know what?” Steve says, in between gentle pecks on Bucky’s forehead, mapping lazy circles and shapes across Bucky's sweaty back. “You’re the ocean to my world,” It comes out whisper quiet and lazily because he is just on the verge of falling asleep. He hears Bucky mutter something softly before he drifts off.

“I have no idea what that means, Stevie, but sounds pretty swell.” 


End file.
